


As Frightened As You

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2015 [11]
Category: Glee
Genre: Anxiety, Future Fic, M/M, Married! Klaine, NYADA, New York City, Students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2015 prompt: Legend<br/>Students Klaine, the year after they return to NYC; Kurt is invited to perform at the Winter Showcase, and Blaine has to conquer his fear of NYADA for his husband's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Frightened As You

Sometimes he felt like such a coward about it. He loved New York as much as he ever had, loved NYU and hanging out in the Village with Elliott, loved finding new (old) piano bars to take Kurt to and loved it when Kurt found a new haberdashery for him. He’d go anywhere up and down the island of Manhattan—he’d even gone all the way up to Washington Heights on an LMM pilgrimage with Tina just last week. And his home borough of Brooklyn had his heart, from the zoo in Prospect Park to the rattiness of Coney Island. Wandering through “Smorgasburg” on weekends with the guys, teasing Artie with _lumpia_ and _carnitas_ and buying treats to mail back to Burt and Sam, was his idea of heaven (even if Kurt complained that every Saturday, their fridge ended up overstuffed “with food we can’t really afford.” “But we sure as hell can enjoy, babe.”) 

But he hated going to NYADA, and never, _never_ went alone. Even after almost a year back in the city, he couldn’t push away the cold stone in his belly whenever he saw the tall gray faux-marble front of the building. He had been there, of course, the promise of hearing Kurt sing in the gorgeous acoustics of the Round Room—or even the thought of a stolen picnic in the middle of the day—enough to pull him in, but he had clasped Kurt’s hand tightly and kept his head down in the halls when he did so. And after they had passed through a door and into privacy, he’d let go of Kurt and sucked in air, hugging the wall to his back until he could breathe again. Kurt would stop a few paces into the room and wait, his eyes sad and large, his hand covering his mouth, as he tried to just be present. 

They didn’t talk about it much; he assured Kurt that he was dealing with it in therapy, and pages of his journal were full of his thoughts—on failure and shame, and misplaced pride. He knew, and Kurt agreed, that he had grown past this place, that Tisch was prestigious enough for _anyone,_ and that, really, the academics at NYU just spoke to Blaine’s heart and mind. Jerry—Dr. Kramer, the New York therapist recommended by Dr. Patel—suggested that some mountains didn’t NEED to be climbed. 

But, as the Winter Showcase approached, Blaine knew that he was going to have to climb this one. Kurt was flushed with excitement at being invited to perform, and dinner for him all week was reheated leftovers with a score in front of him, retiring to spend time in the doorway of their closet, where he’d set up the portable sewing machine, fussing on finding just the right finishing touches for his jacket. 

On Wednesday night, Blaine took a break from looking over his Crispin’s Day monologue for Shakespeare to poke his head into the room: “How’s it coming?” 

Kurt glanced up, breaking off his humming, the excitement warring with exhaustion on his face. “Are you ready to take the field?” 

“In more ways than one—as Henry, and as Blaine, too.” 

“Oh?” 

Blaine stepped farther into the room and sat on the bed close to Kurt. “Do you have any suggestions for the proper garb for this very proud husband?” 

Kurt turned in his chair, his knees nearly touching Blaine’s. “Really? You know I won’t be able to make it home to pick you up before…and probably couldn’t even make it out to the lobby.” 

“Then I suppose we better make sure my clothes meet your approval beforehand,” Blaine smiled at him. 

“Are you sure? Because I so want you to be there, but I understand, really, I do.” 

“Kurt. Kurt. I’m doing this for me—and for you, too. It’s quite an honor to be invited _back_ to sing, after all. What kind of husband wouldn’t want to share that?” He leaned his forehead against Kurt’s, then pulled him into an embrace. “Works in progress, right?” 

Kurt bit his lip and said in a wry tone, “Well, then, would it be part of me being a work in progress if I admitted that there’s surprises in the performance? And that I wasn’t telling you about them because I didn’t want to jinx it?” 

“I like surprises.” 

“I know.” 

Blaine laughed. “You just guaranteed my attendance, you scamp!” 

Except on the night of the showcase, that guarantee didn’t feel so ironclad. The night was crisp and cold, and Blaine was glad Kurt’s wardrobe choices for him included his long black topcoat and Burberry scarf, because he stood across the street from the NYADA performance space for a good 30 minutes. Starbucks down the block beckoned, a port of refuge and warm coffee, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider it. Mostly, he stood, watching other people enter, in pairs and alone, his thumb rubbing over the band on his left ring finger. He saw a girl standing alone at the top of the steps to the auditorium, a tiny, fierce little thing so like Rachel that at first he thought it was her, but Rachel had gone to Chicago to have Hanukkah with her dad Hiram. The girl looked like she was steeling herself to go in, but she was reticent for some reason. He thought, _maybe she’s afraid,_ and was crossing the street before he knew it. 

He approached her. “Are you waiting for someone?” 

She turned at his voice. “No, I’m—.” 

He kept his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Because I was wondering if you were like me, and were a little intimidated by this place.” 

“I’m not the only one? I—I actually GO here, and everyone says you shouldn’t miss Showcase, but Madam Tibideaux really scares me.” She laughed ruefully. “It’s silly.” 

“This place intimidated me so much I dropped out. So I get it. But my husband’s singing tonight, so…” he held out his arm. “Want to go in together?” Tracy, the girl, was a first year from Pennsylvania, and no, she didn’t KNOW Kurt, not exactly, but she did know about his previous performance at the Winter Showcase. “Blaine, don’t you know? It’s a _legend_ around here. The guy who wasn’t even enrolled, who Madame invited to audition at Winter Showcase!” She leaned in and whispered as they entered the hall. “Honestly, your husband must have balls of _steel!”_

Then she spotted a friend up in the crowd and scampered away, shouting back her thanks. He silently offered his to her, as she had done what he couldn’t do on his own. 

The Round Room was full of warm light and the sounds of the orchestra tuning up. He sought through the audience for a spare seat, his heart beating in his throat. Just as he was about to give up and find a place to stand in the back, he felt a hand at his elbow. 

“It’s good to see you here, Mr. Anderson. I hear great things of your work at Tisch…your recent paper on new trends in music for the theatre? Brilliant.” 

He turned to look down into Carmen Tibideaux’s impassive face, fighting down a flash of annoyance. “It’s Anderson-Hummel, actually.” 

“I’d heard. Come, there’s a seat by me.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t.” 

“But Mr. Anders— Hummel, you’ll find there’s always a seat by me. And, as you can see, this is a very popular event.” 

He still hesitated, but her eyebrow game was on a par with Kurt’s, so he reluctantly took the seat she indicated in the second row. And just in time—or perhaps the music director was waiting for her to sit, as the lights dimmed and the first performers came out. 

He relaxed as the night went on, catching Kurt’s eye when his choral group came out to sing “My Favorite Things.”(No, Kurt still won at the eyebrow raise, he chuckled to himself.) Memories of dancing around the set in Artie’s Holiday Christmas Special, playacting—overacting really—had him swaying and mouthing the lyrics along with Kurt. Others in the audience had no such qualms and began singing along. Next to him, Carmen murmured, “I wasn’t aware this was a showing of _Sing-Along Sound of Music,”_ and he had to swallow a giddy giggle. 

A woman came out to introduce the next song, and said, “Tonight represents the 20th Anniversary of this series of concerts under the tutelage of Madame Carmen Tibideaux, our Dean of Vocal Performance. To celebrate, we’ve asked some students to come back and reprise the performances that graced this stage.” He held his breath, then sat up straighter in his seat, for there Kurt was, radiant, the dark purple tones of his tux visible under the lights, the jewel at his throat winking as he stood, closed his eyes, and launched into “Being Alive” from _Company._

Blaine was confused. Around the house all week, Kurt had been humming “I’m Alive,” dancing, drumming on every surface in the house. Just yesterday they had danced around the kitchen to the chorus. He turned to Madame Tibideaux. “What happened to ‘I’m Alive’?” 

“I believe Mr. Hummel has won the role of Gabe in our production of _Next to Normal,”_ she whispered. 

So Kurt _had_ found a way to surprise him. And what a surprise: He stared at his husband, inhabiting this song so completely. As he watched, the amusement at Kurt’s cleverness (and secretiveness—a _role,_ and such a great one) changed to awe at the performance. The whole room, all the others listening, even this odd woman at his side fell away, until there was no one in the room, in the world, but his Kurt. As he watched, on a swell of violins, Kurt opened his stormy eyes. 

“Someone you have to let in/Someone whose feelings you spare,/ Someone who like it or not,/Will want to share a little, a lot…” 

He didn’t know when he started weeping, but he found that he was as he pictured Kurt that first time he sang this song for this crowd, how alone, how devastated, how very brave he’d been. By the time Kurt got to “I’ll always be there/As frightened as you,/To help us survive,” Blaine was out of his seat. And as he sang the last triumphant notes and the rest of the audience joined Blaine on their feet, Kurt turned, his own face wet with tears, and offered a wry little smile to his husband. Then he inclined his head to the side of the stage. 

Blaine excused himself to join Kurt. “You are—so, so magnificent and brave—and I am so, so proud of you,” he babbled, as Kurt, beaming, removed Blaine’s own handkerchief from his inside pocket and dabbed at his husband’s eyes. 

“I think you might be brave too. You made it.” 

“I almost didn’t.” 

“And yet, here you are. Did you like my surprise?” 

_“Both_ of them. And—thank you for trusting me to be here to enjoy them.” 

He still had the rest of the evening to endure, but suddenly the judgment of this crowd didn’t matter so much. Because NYADA wasn’t just vicious backbiters; it was also scared kids like Tracy, and like he had been (and Rachel, too). It was crazy, Yoda-like teachers like Madame T., and well, it just wasn’t for everyone. But Kurt was flourishing here, and that was good enough. Maybe he could stop beating himself up over failing out of the place. Because maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so bad at making the right choices for his own happiness. After all, he HAD been right about Kurt Hummel.


End file.
